I just found a journal entry from a year or so ago… thought I would share….

It’s 1991. The address is 1991 as well, mom says it’s a sign. My brother, sister and I are running through the brush and shredding our legs on wild blackberry bushes. My 3 year old sister is easily distracted by the fruit, her hands and face already stained a brilliant purple. My brother is running from tree to tree, examining them for possible fort locations.

My parents are standing on the red dirt road watching us play on the land that will soon be our yard. They’re hugging, giggling, and daydreaming outloud.

“We can put the mailbox here,” she gleams.

“And Christmas lights in all of these trees,” he follows.

They’re in their own world. A world sparkling with possibility. As the year floats by; the land is cleared, a well is dug, water pipes lain, power trenches dug, septic tank installed, all by our hands. They would laugh and instruct us, as we helped by carrying our little sand buckets of dirt and gravel.

“One day this yard will be nothing but grass, you’ll be able to run barefoot,” she would say. Us kids would make cuckoo expressions behind her back when she would talk about the imaginary grass.

As the days continued to pass, I would watch from the kitchen window of the trailer as I did the dishes. She would work the soil, spread the seeds, water, and grow. She brought life to the yard. Planting, pruning, growing. The same was happening inside the house…..

that was it, the end of a rambling journal entry… but I loved it. Wanted to share!

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